Close to Home
by CTMfan-13
Summary: Shelagh reached into the front pocket of her apron and handed the bottle to her husband. Patrick's face dropped in realization. "Patrick...I've taken those pills."


**Author's Note: I struggled over the decision to post this piece due to seeing a similar story posted and not wanting the author to think I had plagiarized their work. I've been working on this since the Series 5 finale, and after overcoming some writer's block issues, I'm happy with it. I hope you enjoy this piece, reviews are appreciated! x**

Close to Home

It wasn't supposed to be possible.

 _Infertility due to extrapulmonary tuberculosis._

That was her diagnosis. She had accepted it. Moved on. Was it still painful? Of course. But then, Angela had come into their lives, and all that pain seemed to be inconsequential when they had their beautiful little girl in their arms.

Since her release from the sanatorium, Shelagh was more prone to the sniffles, sneezes and any other common illness. So when she'd started feeling ill, the Turners thought nothing of it. She pulled back from work at the surgery and clinic, spending her time doing paperwork from the comfort of their home and taking care of the children.

Patrick tried everything, prescribing any antibiotic he could think of that would help her symptoms, the most uncomfortable of which were nausea and vomiting on a daily basis. No fever, no swollen glands.

It was Shelagh who suggested they make another appointment at the surgery on Harley Street. Call it 'women's intuition', but she knew something wasn't right. And then came the confirmation.

Pregnant.

Shelagh Turner, pregnant with a seemingly thriving baby, and who was just shy of twelve weeks. They were shocked.

"I suppose that camping trip was good for something in the end." Shelagh teased her husband that night as they lay in bed, secure in their bubble of disbelief, their hands entwined on her barely distended belly.

They decided to keep the news to themselves for another week or so, just to be safe. And with Angela's birthday coming up, there would be plenty to celebrate. Until the last Saturday in October.

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Shelagh didn't understand how things could go downhill so quickly. Had it really only been a few hours since she and her family were making breakfast together?

Sister Evangelina gone. The Distaval letter. The Lancet article. The Board of Health. Thalidomide.

 _"Who am I going to spar with now?"_

 _"I'm not crying about that. I was, but I decided Sister Evangelina wouldn't approve. So, I sent Timothy out with Angela and went into the surgery to see to the morning's post."_

He read the letter. She explained about the Board of Health. Saw the Lancet article. She could see the wheels in his brain turning the same as hers had been for the last hour.

 _"Shelagh, I have prescribed Distaval to dozens of women. Perhaps scores...Deformed babies have been born in our district. We need to speak to someone. And then we need to act."_

The next thing she knew, they were in the surgery poring over patient files with Nurses Crane and Mount. A haze of smoke surrounding her husband's hunched form. She'd seen that position before, and sent up a silent prayer.

 _Please, Lord. Don't let this be like last summer. Give us the strength to see each other through this._

After Patrick's struggles with the Prendergast baby, Shelagh couldn't go through that again-pregnant or not.

She sat next to Patrick as they spoke with Rhoda Mullucks about the Distaval recall. She tried to keep her emotions in check, but it was difficult. What would she do if she were in that position? If their child...no, she didn't want to continue that train of thought. She needed to give her care and attention to help Rhoda and Susan, not to daydream about 'what-if's'. When they went home that night, Shelagh hugged her children a little longer than she normally would, and fell asleep clutching her husband's arm.

Then came the funeral. The streets were lined with people whose lives Sister Evangelina had touched, many of them having been brought into the world by her own two hands, including Timothy. Shelagh clung to her husband and son, thankful for their presence beside her when she felt as though she would collapse in her feelings of grief for her former Sister. The deepest pain was that she'd never gotten to tell her of their little miracle. Sister Evangelina would have been thrilled to know that the Lord had granted their deepest wish.

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Soon enough, there was no hiding Shelagh's condition from the rest of their colleagues. By working from home she was safe from prying eyes, but that couldn't last forever. Having invited Sister Julienne over to see Angela to try and bring her some joy after the loss of Sister Evangelina, Shelagh and Patrick settled next to her as Angela handed her wooden blocks over to her godmother one at a time.

"Sister? We actually asked you over today for another reason."

Julienne raised an eyebrow at them, keeping her gaze focused on Angela.

"We...have some news." Patrick spoke, waiting for an acknowledgement.

Out of the corner of her eye, Julienne noticed their hands clasp together. Tearing her attention away from the toddler, she focused on her former sister and her husband.

"Everything is alright, I hope?"

"Very much so, Sister." Shelagh shared a glance with her husband, smiling before turning back to the nun. "We...well, I'm..." Julienne's eyes widened in concern as Shelagh stuttered before finally uttering the word "...expecting."

Sister Julienne immediately burst into tears of happiness, overwhelmed by their news. If they had expected a similar response from the rest of Nonnatus, they were not disappointed. Everyone at Nonnatus House, and members of the community, were thrilled for them.

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A few weeks later, just before the Christmas holidays, a call came from the grammar school that Timothy was ill and would need to be picked up. Patrick brought him home and tucked him up in his room while Shelagh took care of Angela.

"Shelagh? Can you check the medicine cabinet? I think I left some aspirin in there until I can run down to the chemist."

Opening the cabinet, Shelagh sifted through several bottles of old prescriptions while she looked for the aspirin. _You know Patrick, you could go through this cabinet every once in a while_ she thought to herself as she found what she had been searching for. As she grabbed the glass bottle, her eyes fell upon it's neighbor and her heart seemed to stop as realization dawned. She grabbed the offending bottle, placing it in her pocket, and went to bring her husband the aspirin.

Shelagh was waiting for him on the couch when he finished with Tim.

"Well, he'll be out of school tomorrow, I'm sorry to say. It's just a fever, but it's best to be safe than sorry." He noticed her distressed look. "Shelagh?"

"Oh, Patrick..." she breathed. He was at her side in a moment, grasping at her hands.

"What is it, love? You're white as a sheet."

"I-I didn't know..."

"Shelagh. Tell me what's wrong."

Shelagh opened her mouth to speak, but was unable to find her voice. Instead, she reached into the front pocket of her apron, just beneath the swell of her abdomen and handed the bottle to Patrick.

"Distaval? Shelagh, where did you get this?"

She pointed to the bathroom. "The cabinet."

Patrick's face dropped in realization.

"Patrick...I've taken those pills."

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After a few moments, he finally found his voice.

"When?" he asked, practically a whisper.

Shelagh broke down at that moment. "I...I didn't know! We weren't supposed to- be able to- I didn't know!"

"Shelagh. When?!"

"I...it was September. Before we found out- about the baby. It was supposed to help."

"Oh, Shelagh."

"I'm sorry!"

He gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest as her body rocked with sobs. He ran a hand over her hair, rocking her back and forth to try and calm her.

"Don't say you're sorry. I'm the one who's sorry, Shelagh. We didn't know...but I'm here. I've got you, love. It will all be alright."

She sniffled, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as she leaned her head back to look at him. "What if it's not?"

"We will make sure it is. In sickness and in health, right? I promise you, Shelagh. If something is wrong, we will find a way to make it right."

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The clinicians at Harley Street did what they could to offer support, but seeing as the Turners were also medical professionals, they knew the truth. There was nothing that anyone could do to offer them respite from their concerns, except to wait and pray for a miracle. They kept their concerns to themselves, only sharing the information with Sister Julienne and Nurse Crane, both of whom they trusted to keep their confidence. Every time they felt the baby move, they shared a look of understanding- smiles on the outside, but underneath both of them were praying for divine intervention.

Until Nurse Crane showed up at the surgery one day, unannounced and in search of Shelagh.

After the truth of Thalidomide and it's effects had been brought to light, Phyllis had made it her mission to keep up to date on all the latest medical findings and updates from the Board of Health and abroad. Patrick knew she had felt a connection to Ruby Cottingham, one of the mothers whose child didn't survive, and was comforted by the fact that she was searching for answers as well. If anyone was up for a challenge, it was Phyllis Crane. So when she burst through the doors one morning, both Turners were taken by surprise.

"When did you take them, Mrs. Turner?" Phyllis asks, no idle pleasantries or 'hellos' to be seen.

"Um, I suppose it was early September. Right around the time Timothy went back to school. I- I only took them for about a week- funny enough, they weren't working well."

Patrick stopped at the doorway of his office, watching their interaction. "Why do you ask, Nurse Crane?"

"From my research, Doctor Turner, it seems that the experts believe the cause of the deformities is directly linked to when in gestation the pills were taken. The period between weeks five and nine seem to be the key, according to the development of the fetus."

Patrick and Shelagh looked at each other, both mentally doing the math in their heads.

"Is there any chance you could have been further along when you took the Distaval, Mrs. Turner?"

Shelagh blushed, discussing her sex life even with a fellow midwife, still made her feel sublimely awkward. Her husband was aware of this fact, and did his best to hide his amusement.

Patrick cleared his throat before answering. "No, Nurse Crane. Of that much we're certain."

With two young children just down the hall and a busy schedule over the summer, there hadn't been much time for intimacy. Until their camping trip, at least.

"That puts you right on the cusp of the crucial period, Mrs. Turner."

"Nurse Crane, please call me Shelagh." She rolled her eyes at the senior midwife. After a rocky start to their working relationship, they were finally on a level-playing field, especially after the Thalidomide downfall.

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Her entire pregnancy goes smoothly, much to everyone's delight. There were no residual complications from the tuberculosis that had supposedly stripped her of the ability to bear a child, and once the morning sickness passes, she's fairly comfortable. As the weeks turn into months, winter fades to spring and Shelagh's due date is rapidly approaching. She tries not to worry herself, as does Patrick. It was before the crucial stage. They'd double checked. Triple checked, even. There was no way she could have been further along than the five weeks. So why did it feel like a looming threat, when it should have been a cause for celebration.

Everyone picked up on the tension, though no one spoke about it. Sister Monica Joan quoted some far off astrologer or someone of the sort, but none took note.

When her labor starts, that's when the panic really sets in. Shelagh and Patrick are lying in bed, both waiting for sleep to claim them when her contractions come on full-force. They manage the night alone before calling Sister Julienne after breakfast to come over. Since the maternity home is not far off, Shelagh decided she wanted to go through as much as she could in the comfort of their flat before being moved up to the wing. Hours pass as she paces the floors of the flat, her husband and former superior beside her, until she exhausts herself from the effort.

"Sister Julienne, could you go and telephone the flying squad, please?" Patrick asks lowly, his voice monotone and trying to remain calm. Sister Julienne nods, getting up from the chair she's been occupying and patting Shelagh's hand in benediction.

"No! I want to do this myself..." Shelagh fights him, her voice barely above a moan.

"My love," he says as he mops her forehead with a cold flannel. "It's been over twelve hours and you're no closer now than you were at breakfast time. Please...let me take care of you and our baby."

Shelagh tears up, exhaustion and pain evident in her eyes. "Patrick-"

"Shelagh, you're exhausted. This isn't safe for either of you."

Gathering her wits, she fixes her husband with a determined stare.

"Patrick, promise me something."

"Anything, my love."

"If...if the baby is affected, we can't send it to a home."

"Oh, Shelagh."

"I won't do that, Patrick. Promise me."

Sister Julienne re-enters the bedroom in a frantic blur. "They're here."

"Promise me, Patrick Turner."

"I promise. But let's not worry about that until we have to, alright? I don't know about you, but I think we ought to get a move on. I'm ready to meet this little one."

Shelagh nods as the flying squad arrives, finally succumbing to her exhaustion as they transfer her to the back of an ambulance and take her directly to the theatre at the London Hospital.

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She wakes up to stark white walls and bright lights above her. The windows above the bed are lit with morning sunshine, and she realizes she has been out for nearly half a day. She can feel the weight of someone holding her hand and hear the faint murmuring of prayers she knows by heart. Unable to keep her eyes open very long, she squeezes the hand holding her own.

"Shelagh?"

She blinks her eyes open. It's Sister Julienne.

"Welcome back, my dear." She opens her mouth to speak but Julienne stops her. "Shh. Don't try to talk yet. You've been out for quite a while. Here have some water, small sips."

"Patrick?" Shelagh whispers.

"He's here. He just stepped out to call and check on the children. Would you like to sit up?"

Shelagh nods, wincing as she tries to pull herself up.

"Easy, Shelagh. You've just had major surgery, let me help you."

Once she's upright, Shelagh glances toward the foot of her bed where a cot has been placed. As soon as she sees that it's empty, she bursts into tears. No wonder Sister Julienne is with her, she thinks to herself. Patrick probably couldn't bear to tell her the news and break her heart.

"My dear!" Sister Julienne stands to move closer, but stops upon hearing the familiar clunk of heavy footsteps.

"Shelagh! It's alright, my love."

Shelagh can't bear to open her eyes, crying and apologizing to her husband. "I'm sorry. I'm so... so sorry!"

She doesn't see the look that passes between her husband and the nun, nor does she notice her husband leave the ward with a nod to Sister Julienne.

"Shelagh, look at me."

"It's...all...my...fault!" She continues to sob, taking shaky breaths between each word.

"Shelagh, what are you talking about?"

"The baby. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have-"

"Shelagh?"

She stops in her apologetic ranting and her sobs fade as she hears Patrick's voice. Looking up, she notices her husband standing in the entrance to the ward, a bundle of blankets in his arms. He walks towards her, gingerly sitting down on the edge of the bed near her legs, careful not to jostle her or the newborn in his arms.

"I have someone here who very much wants to meet his Mummy."

She draws in a breath, unable to take her eyes off the sleeping face who's tiny body has been swaddled to perfection.

"Is..." She can't bring herself to finish the question.

"He's absolutely perfect, my love. Ten fingers, ten toes, my nose and your eyes." He leans towards her, gently passing their son into her waiting arms. She shifts uncomfortably for a moment, the scar on her abdomen feeling tender at the movement before she settles.

"Oh...he's wonderful." She breathes, her voice barely a whisper.

The absence of movement seems to stir the newborn, making quiet mewls of discontent before opening his eyes and gazing back at his mother for the first time.

"Hello, young man. I'm your Mummy. Daddy and I have been waiting for you for such a long time."


End file.
